


Tempered by Grief

by thecopperriver



Series: Forgefire [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Background Boffins - Freeform, Bottom Fíli, Durincest, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Scars, Sibling Incest, Slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5652841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecopperriver/pseuds/thecopperriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after Fili becomes King, not everyone is happy with the new order of things.  What changes come to Middle Earth with the survival of Fili and Kili?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Durin's Day

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the sequel to _Forged by Wandering_! I hope you enjoy this new journey with me. This will probably not be updated as quickly as Forged was, as I don't have a buffer written already, but I'll do what I can. Tags will be updated as relevant. If you would like me to tag for anything specific, please just comment or drop me a message on tumblr. I would be happy to add any tags needed, no explanation necessary.
> 
> Hover over Khuzdul words for translations.

“I hate this, Kí.”

Not glancing up from where he was hunched over his desk with the latest report from Nori, Kíli shot back, “I know your clothing is not what you would prefer, Fí.  But Dori worked hard to get it complete for today, you _have_ to wear it.”

“I’m not referring to my outfit.”  Looking down, Fíli winced and revised his statement. “I’m not _just_ referring to my outfit.”

Kíli looked up from his work at last.

Seeing he had his lover’s attention, Fíli gestured expansively at their surroundings.  “It’s all this, the trappings and restraints of being King.  I never wanted the power or riches, and certainly not the demands!  And now we’ve had to put off our handfasting yet again.”  He collapsed into his chair with his hands over his face to hide the threatening tears.

Soft steps echoed off the stone until Kíli stood at his feet.  The brunet sank to his knees and gently but firmly pried at Fíli’s hands until he held them in his own.  “What’s really wrong, nadad?  I know you never wanted any of this, but you _never_ speak of how much you hate it.”

“It’s...,” Fíli felt a fat tear roll off his nose, “it’s the fifth Durin’s Day since we reclaimed the mountain, and I know it’s a joyous occasion for our people.  But to me, it’s as though we’re celebrating all that destruction – celebrating Thorin’s death.”

“Oh, Fí,” Kíli kissed across his knuckles, his close-cropped stubble rough but his lips soft. “Do you think that if you speak with Amad and Balin, they would act as stewards for us to take a week to ourselves? Winter is almost upon us, the quiet season when nothing pressing should require your immediate involvement. We could journey for a time and remember Thorin as he was.”

Fíli felt a moment of hopefulness at the suggestion, but… “I cannot leave my people like that, it would be shirking my duties; they have placed their trust in me.” His shoulders bowed anew under the crushing weight of responsibility.

“Razdûn-nadad…”[1] Kíli looked up at him earnestly, “you cannot keep going like this. _All_ of our folk take breaks. They will not think less of you for doing the same; not when they see how hard you work and how much you care for them. A week is not too much to ask for. If you will not speak to them, I _will_.”

Looking at Kíli’s face, Fíli could tell from his resolute expression that he would not be swayed. And in truth, he did not wish to. “Kí…are you sure it would be alright?”

Kíli laid his head on Fíli’s thigh and tilted it to look quizzically up at him, “what is this about, in truth?”

“What do you mean?” Fíli was quite taken aback.

“I know you have a deep sense of responsibility, Fí, but I don’t believe you’d protest so much over a simple break. Even Thorin, driven as he was, knew the importance of time away.”

In spite of himself, Fíli could feel his face crumple at the mention of Thorin’s name.

“Is that it, Fí? Are you reluctant because of Thorin? But why?”

“Thorin placed a great deal of trust in me when he named me his heir. He could have chosen anyone, but he chose to teach _me_ everything he believed I would need to know in order to be a good King. To just leave…it feels as though I would in some way be acting disloyal to his memory. Restoring Erebor was his dream.”

Fíli watched his brother’s eyes widen in surprise at the reasons given. Expecting a compassionate gesture, he was taken aback when Kíli instead began to laugh. Stung, he tried to rip his hands from Kíli’s, but the brunet held fast.

Between laughs, Kíli managed to get out, “No, Fí, stop. I do not mean to make light of your concerns. It’s just…I thought Thorin had charged to you remain within the Mountain, or imparted some secret that meant you had to stay.”

Somewhat pacified, Fíli stopped attempting to wrest his hands away and allowed Kíli to kiss his palms in silent apology.

“Fí, I cannot think that the Uncle who loved us would regard a week away as a betrayal. In fact, I think he would be the first to kick you out the door; with a cuff to the ear for believing such nonsense. Even less would he begrudge us time to grieve his loss.”

Even then somewhat reluctant, Fíli sighed and admitted, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Kí. I’ll speak to Balin tomorrow.”

“It’s alright, Fí. You always were too hard on yourself.”

Chuckling now with the relief of some of his tension, Fíli playfully aimed a swat at his lover.

“Hey! My hair gets messy enough on the own without you helping, and I have to be presentable at the welcome feast tonight.” Kíli raised his hands defensively. “Now, if you’re done with your minor crisis, I should finish reading over that report from Nori before we must leave.”

Fíli groaned, thinking of the stacks of reports awaiting _him_. “Fine, fine, you should get back to that.” As Kíli shifted to stand, Fíli reached out to cup the back of his neck and pulled him close to kiss his forehead. “Thank you,  bahir kandûnê.”[2]

Olive skin darkened with a flush around the scar crossing the bridge of Kíli’s nose. “You know I will help in any way I can, amrâl.”[3]

The blond stood as Kíli did, stretching tense shoulders before reluctantly walking to his own desk. The large surface was littered with thick stacks of paper from the mines, guilds, guards, and from the Council. There were reports from ambassadors to other peoples, hastily scrawled sheaves from scouts, and petitions from his people with varying degrees of literacy. He considered them all before bringing to mind Kíli’s argument about breaks and his present mood, and plucked his recreational reading from the top of one unstable pile.

Without looking up, Kíli said, “I told you, find an aide or two who can read through all that for you and summarize all the important information, or pass on the ones that truly require your personal attention.”

For the first time, Fíli found himself truly considering the suggestion. They would have to be trustworthy, but perhaps Una…? And one of Bombur’s boys had shown interest in scholarly pursuits as well. He would have to sound them both out soon. If he had an aide, he could devote more time to hands-on work for his kingdom. But for the time being, he settled back in his chair before the fire with his treatise on smelting methods in the time of Narvi.

The chair was still one of the two the Company had received from disrepair when they had initially set up the chambers for Fíli and Kíli. Very little else remained the same however. Fíli found himself contemplating those changes rather than reading. For one, the chairs were no longer located in the first room of the suite. The study and room for private conferences had been combined to form a cozy area for he and Kíli to monitor the pulse of the kingdom; to discuss politics and reconstruction late into the night. Its size and the fireplace were accounted for by the addition of the living area from the neighbouring suite.

In the first year, with all the exiles returned, it had not been long before displaced nobles who had fled to the Zirinhanâd [4] were muscling their way into Erebor. While Fíli had been mostly successful in his attempt to block them from garnering the power they believed was their due: between them and the traditionalists among the exiles, he had been forced to make a few concessions. The most painful of these was an agreement to the customary period of courtship, which meant that he and Kíli were not to share a bed or even quarters. Kíli had ‘moved’ into the neighbouring rooms with a great show of reluctance on both their parts, so those insisting on the separation would not be aware it was a sham. Official visitors were never permitted past the receiving rooms, and loyal friends, servants, and guardsmen ensured the charade’s success. In truth, Fíli shared not just his bed, but his body with his brother. No matter how many political matches were paraded before him, he awaited only his handfasting to officially name Kíli his King-Consort.

Aside from the covert remodelling, their chambers had also become more richly appointed. They had commissioned returning artisans first to restore the pieces already in the rooms and then to create new ones. Both Fíli and Kíli were also known as generous patrons of the bustling marketplace which had sprung up in the new spirit of cooperation, and they purchased from more than just the dwarven crafters. Men, elves, and even an enterprising team of adventurous scions of the Took and Brandybuck clans had set up stalls.

When the first pair of hobbits had arrived at the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo had been delighted. He had once commented to Fíli that, “you dwarves are a fine folk upon longer acquaintance, and I am quite at home within the mountain now. But there’s nothing like a fellow hobbit for knowing the importance of elevenses or always having a pocket-handkerchief.” Now, Bilbo and Bofur made their periodic trips to and from the Shire in the company of goods for these bold hobbit merchants.

It was not just merchants who had journeyed from the Shire however. Bilbo had been absolutely astounded that spring when two waggoneers had presented themselves to the gate guards asking how they could find Master Baggins, member of the Council of Erebor, and to tell him they had heard there was a problem with farming.

Fíli was unclear on the precise details, but from what their burglar had said, never in living memory had a Maggot or a Greenhand chosen to leave the Shire. Regardless, Fíli had been pleased to welcome their expertise to the mountain, for their initial attempts to set up farms on the slopes had been met with little success. Under the knowledgeable supervision of the hobbits, the dwarves had carved garden terraces out of the stone and filled them with earth as well as the seeds and fertilizer brought by the farmers. The dwarves had been delighted to harvest their first crop that autumn, and were already deep in consultations with the hobbits for expansions in the spring. The farmers of Dale had also made overtures to pool their knowledge.

Truthfully, Fíli had been a little startled at how quickly the hobbits had integrated into dwarven life. From how fussy Bilbo had been when they started their journey, he had expected the others to be the same. It was Holman Greenhand who had set him straight.

“Master Baggins is a good sort for them proper folks, but he still don’t know what it is to work for a living. Pottering around in his garden is the closest Master Bilbo came to getting his hands dirty; but I took care of the _real_ work. We’ll get along with your folk just fine, ain’t none of them a stranger to heavy lifting.”

“Forgive me for asking, Mr. Greenhand,” Fíli had asked, “but I understand it is unusual for hobbits to leave the Shire. Your help is welcome, but what moved you to offer?”

Chuckling, Holman had slapped Alard Maggot on the back. “You don’t offend us none, your Majesty. I don’t need none of that ‘Mister’ neither; just call me Holman.”

Maggot had been the one to explain their reasons for arriving. “You folk consider Aulë your Creator, right? We don’t rightfully know who’s responsible for us, but we figure Yavanna might be well-disposed towards us on account of the prosperity of the Shire. She’s married to your Creator, which makes you our cousins of a sort. We hobbits look after our kin.”

Grinning, Holman had continued, “and we’re also looking at the greatest farming challenge since the founding of the Shire. I couldn’t own up to my great-granpa’s legacy if I didn’t try to beat it.”

“I completely understand,” Fíli had laughed, “My people appreciate a good challenge. And I look forward to knowing you better, cousins.”

The two hobbit farmers had quickly drawn a group of dwarves eager to learn their farming techniques. It was not precisely traditional, but their exile had forced them to learn many new skills. It was simply the devastation Smaug had left behind which had defeated them.

Turning himself back to the intricacies of smelting, Fíli lost himself in the minutiae until a heavy knock disturbed him from his reading.

“Your Majesty,” Bifur’s voice echoed through the thick door, “we are here to escort you to the Hall of the King.”

“You may enter,” Fíli called out loudly, “I will be ready momentarily.” He stood and straightened his heavy clothing, cringing a little every time his fingers brushed over gems or twisted gold embroidery. Fiddling nervously with the fabric, he smoothed over his thick overcoat far more than necessary. It was…something still felt _tainted_ about wearing the wealth of the Treasury, even after Galadriel had broken the enchantment.

He looked up when Kíli laughed. “You look magnificent, razdûnê.[5] Though I do understand why your clothing discomforts you.” Fíli grinned back when Kíli held out his own arms and spun slowly, presenting himself for inspection. “How about me?”

Though he’d already assessed Kíli’s appearance, Fíli took the opportunity presented to look over his brother’s lean form appreciatively. As a fully mature dwarf, he had changed little in the five years since the quest. Perhaps he was a little broader through the shoulders from practicing with a heavier bow, and the new scars from the battle made him look older. His beard was still close-cropped to help with his bow, which had caused some friction with traditionalists. They thought that the Crown Prince should give up such a low class weapon and grow a properly dwarven beard, particularly since he was courting the King.

Fíli wished he could have told them precisely what he thought of their antiquated beliefs, particularly with the way he could tell Kíli was struggling to keep his face from showing their comments had hit the mark. But, constrained by his position, he instead argued them around. In the end, they agreed it was beneficial to have a prince who was actively concentrated on the defense of their home, including the ability to train others in ranged weaponry.

Reaching out with one hand, Fíli brushed some stray hair back behind Kíli’s ear, “you look perfect, sannadad.”[6] He let his hand linger, cupping Kíli’s cheek and smiling when his lover leaned into the touch. The sound of heavy boots in the antechamber reminded him it was time to leave.

____________________

Fíli stood at the front of the Hall of Kings and looked out over his assembled people. He had not wished to be King, Fíli found himself smiling at the thought he had not done too badly. The faces turned up to look at him appeared happy and healthy, and most of the population of Dale, along with a few elves and hobbits mixed in with the dwarves. And standing at the front alongside members of his Council were representatives from Dale, Mirkwood, Lothlórien, the Iron Hills, the Ered Luin, Imladris, and even Gondor. Fíli had reached out to their distant kin in the Orocarni Mountains as well, but they had not yet truly reconnected.

That year would mark the fifth anniversary of what had been dubbed that ‘Battle of Five Armies’, and the biggest week of celebrations for the reclamation of Erebor so far. The week-long festival did not precisely mark the date; because when Fíli had made the declaration, he could not bring himself to mark the date of such a loss with a celebration. Instead, the week began on Durin’s Day and included the traditional recognition of the Dwarven New Year. The Company had taken to holding their own private memorial for Thorin on the anniversary of the battle itself.

“My kin! My friends!” Fíli spoke clearly so his voice could be heard in every corner of the fully-restored Hall. “I thank you for joining in this celebration of what our peoples’ can achieve if we work together. Five years ago, enemies turned allies saw to the destruction of a great army of the Enemy. In the years since, your hard work and dedication have seen much of the desolation of Smaug put to rights.

“As most of you know, my brother and I were not born before Smaug came. We only knew of Erebor from tales shared by our elders. It is thanks to your efforts that I now begin to see why the Lonely Mountain and Dale were famed far and wide; not just as Strongholds of the North, but as creators and great centres of trade.

“I need not tell you there is more hard work to come,” and here Fíli heard good-natured groans from the crowd, “but these last years have left me with no doubt that we are all up to the challenge. We will make the North safe again. We will not only do honour to those we have lost, but provide a _home_ to our children. I tell you, I have never been more proud to be your King.”

Raucous cheers broke out in the Hall, so loud Fíli was forced to stop speaking. He did not mind though, filled with the pride he had spoken of. Only when the cheers did not seem likely to die down, fuelled by those who had begun their ‘celebration’ ahead of time, did he raise his hands for silence.

“I know listening to speeches is not how you wish to be spending this Durin’s Day, so I will be brief in conclusion. I welcome you all to this week of celebration, but ask that even through joyous, you not entirely forget the sacrifices which have led to this day. And please, be kind to your fellow revellers.” Fíli grinned, “no one wants to spend their festival sleeping off a drunken bout of aggression in the gaol.” He was relieved when this assertion was greeted with laughter.

“And now I yield the floor to our honoured guests. Lord Bard, would you like to say a few words?”

Bard stepped forward and waved a hand to the crowd. The man wore his five years of rule well: while his hair bore more strands of iron, his face was less gaunt, and his eyes had lost their pinched, worried quality. And it was easy to see why. All three of his children stood with him on the dais, happy, healthy, and no longer wondering where their next meal might be coming from. Though he had been elevated, Bard still favoured simple clothing, but it was no longer patched or threadbare. And when he spoke, he still used the same measured and plain words, and his people listened.

“I must echo King Fíli in welcoming you to these celebrations. Perhaps even more than he, I am surprised to be here today; for while he never knew the mountain, I had grown up with the looming threat of the dragon. Those of us in Girion’s line lived under the shadows of his failure to believe Smaug could not be killed. I have never before been proven wrong in such a pleasing way. These fine dwarves I stand with today reminded me that ‘doom’ can mean more than death, though it does always signify change. I am pleased this change saw Dale rising from the ashes of the fallen dragon.

“Be welcome here today, and enjoy the benefits of the renewed cooperation of Erebor and Dale.” Bard stepped back into place as a resounding cheer rose and was immediately crushed by his children in a family embrace. Fili saw him kiss their brows or smooth back their hair, and the place in his heart that carried the loss of their father gave a momentary pang. He just hoped he was making Hjalli proud.

The remainder of the speeches were fairly formulaic. Gondor was the only kingdom to be represented for the first time, and the other representatives said much the same thing every year: they were honoured to be there, pleased to trade with the re-established kingdoms, and looked forward to fostering the spirit of cooperation. They all knew the speeches were more for form than function; the real importance was the mingling of peoples during the festival. Fíli had left Prince Adrahil to last for that reason, and he had clearly taken note of what the other representatives had said, as well as the brief length of their remarks. His only addition was that he had been surprised and impressed with the restoration achieved, for he had heard of the scale of the devastation the dragon had wrought.

As with every other year, Fíli had asked if Bilbo or one of the other hobbits would like to speak, as official representative for the Shire. And, again as with every year, the hobbits preferred to be silent partners in the restoration.

“I still have yet to live down the embarrassment of only being able to say ‘Thag you very buch’, at the banquet in Laketown,” Bilbo had commented once. “No, I think from now on, I shall limit my speechmaking to things like birthday parties, or similar occasions when all my listeners will be too intoxicated to remember later.”

“Thank you, Prince Adrahil. I hope this is not the last visit we receive from your kingdom, you are a gracious guest,” Fíli offered a shallow bow to the Prince before facing forward once more. “I thank you all for your patience. As soon as the great bell ri…” the bell cut off his last few words. “It appears the cooks are as impatient to begin as I am certain all of you are. That was the signal for the feast to begin.”

____________________

One of the first things Fíli had learned on Erebor’s feast days was that his people would not regard him poorly if he did not hold to kingly comportment. In fact, it was almost seen as an insult if he did not join in the merriment, as if he considered himself too important to let loose. This considered, Fíli spent much of the feast moving from table to table, sharing food and ale with all those who were present, Kíli a faithful shadow. They had long since perfected their routine, Kíli remaining watchful so Fíli could relax his guard and connect with his people. Knowing his brother’s love of ale, Fíli had argued that they could trade off watch duties, but Kíli remained firm.

“It’s not _me_ they want to converse with on feast days, Fí. And though I trust most of the folk within  Azsâlul’abad,[7] I would not entrust your safety to such uncertainties.”

And that was that.

Though he felt guilty for it, Fíli relished the chance to loosen his inhibitions. It was one of the few times he felt an ordinary dwarrow anymore, his people treating him as they would anyone. Any other day, they would become hushed and respectful when he was near, but on feast days he was clapped on the back and handed an ale or a chunk of roast and drawn into whatever discussion – or argument – was occurring at the time.

He had already joined a number of groups and beginning to feel pleasantly full when Bofur beckoned him over. The miner was still wearing his absurd winged hat and was in the midst of Bombur’s large brood. Bilbo, seated contentedly next to him and holding his hand, had apparently become accustomed to the cheerful chaos which usually followed his lover.

“Oi, Fíli! Be a good chap and settle an argument for us, aye?” Bofur called out, sending the heads of all those within earshot swivelling his way.

Not wishing to shout, Fíli waited until he was close to speak. “What argument would that be?”

“Well, Bilbo backs me that I have the finest facial hair of any dwarf present,” Bofur stated, stroking his long, luxurious moustache while Bilbo fidgeted. “But me brother, Bombur, says it’s his great ring of a beard, and his rotten bunch agrees with him! There’s no accounting for taste, not to mention their betrayal of their dear Uncle. So we thought it would only be fair to ask someone else to judge.”

Fíli could hear Kíli’s desperately stifled laughter at his shoulder, not to mention the shaking of his body, pressed close in the crush. Though he was tempted to declare Kíli the winner...it would be taken the wrong way by his brother.

Instead, he made a grand show of inspecting both dwarrow’s facial hair. He leaned in close and hemmed and hawed over both, tilting his head to inspect them at different angles. He even had one of Bombur’s lads hold out the thick ginger rope and twist it for him while Bombur blushed at being the centre of attention. By the end of his evaluation, they were all in stitches from Fíli’s overdramatic manner.

“After much careful deliberation,” Fíli heard the indrawn breaths of his listeners as they awaited his verdict, “I have decided that the dwarrow with the best facial hair is…” he paused to allow suspense to build, grinning with the fun he was having, “…me.”

And almost fell over laughing at the dumbfounded expressions as they processed his declaration.

Bofur, unsurprisingly, was the first to find words. “Hey, lad, now that ain’t fair! You weren’t even in consideration!”

“But can you deny the truth of my judgement?” Fíli countered. “Just look at this neatly trimmed beard, clipped to show off my mischievous dimples that can make anyone swoon.”

He ignored Bofur’s muttered; “mischievous is right,” truly getting into his performance.

“And my braided moustache is so unique! It frames my full mouth perfectly, and the braids might as well be spun from the light of the Lamps by our Maker himself. No, I truly have the finest facial hair of any dwarf present.”

Without allowing them time to retort, Fíli spun on his heel with a flourish and swaggered away, pleased by the gales of laughter he heard in his wake. And even more pleased by Kíli’s hand on his elbow to steady him when he would have stumbled. The ale he had consumed had evidently gone to his head more than he had known.

Now at his side, Kíli tangled their fingers and leaned in to whisper, “I think you have the finest beard in Azsâlul’abad, amrâl. And I have seen some of our younger dwarves try to mimic it, most with much less success.” He leaned away once more, but not without first ghosting a kiss across Fíli’s temple, sending Fíli’s pulse racing from the gentle touch.

Flushed and cursing his pale skin, the blond responded quietly, “thank you, Kí.”

Drifting from table to table once more, he lingered longer as his overfull stomach made moving uncomfortable, and found himself seated next to Prince Adrahil. The man and his retinue had only arrived the day before from their lengthy trip north, and so Fíli had little opportunity to take his measure. He had heard positive reports of the Swan Knights of Dol Amroth however, and his performance at the welcoming speeches had shown him skilled in diplomacy. After taking a refreshing gulp of ale, Fíli turned to better meet the tall man’s clear grey eyes.

“I hope you are enjoying this Durin’s Day feast, your Highness. I regret not finding a moment sooner to ask, are the quarters assigned to you and your men acceptable? We do not often have men stay within the mountain itself, most prefer to find lodging in Dale.” Fíli studied the man as he spoke, hoping to catch a glimpse beneath the bland, diplomatic mask. Keen blue eyes noted the man’s tanned and weathered skin and fair hair bleached blonder by sun and salt. Dol Amroth was known to have problems with corsairs from Umbar, and Adrahil rose a notch in Fíli’s estimation from the signs he was not a man to lead from the safety of shore. Raven’s feet at the corners of Adrahil’s grey eyes showed he was not always so sombre.

“Thank you, your Majesty. In truth, my knights and I rarely find accommodations so pleasant. Gondor remains on warlike footing, and we are more typically housed in barracks when away from home. The Lonely Mountain has proven to be an excellent host, even in the brief time we have been here, and I am pleased that my first journey coincides with a time of festival. I too hope it will not be my last,” here Adrahil paused, and seemed hesitant to continue with whatever was on his mind.

Fíli was content to wait, trying to appear as open as possible.

“May I be frank, King Fíli?”

“I would welcome it,” he replied. “I hope we may build alliance between us, and honesty should be the bedrock for any such agreement.”

“You, and your people…you are not what I was expecting,” Adrahil blurted out after a moment, almost in spite of himself.

Fíli laughed. “You are not the first to say so.” At the knight’s stricken expression, he hastened to reassure him. “Have no fear! Such an assessment tends to be revealed as a compliment.”

Adrahil’s face cleared. “Indeed, I intended no insult, though I fear the ale has caused my tongue to run away from me.

“Our histories unfortunately portray your folk as dour and gruff, interested in little but stonework and having few words for outsiders. Evidently the artists for such histories were similarly misinformed, for they show dwarves as rather shorter and wider, much like ambulatory stone blocks.”

Beside Fíli, Kíli snorted at the description. “There are certainly those among us who fit one or both descriptions. But just think how dull it would be if we were all the same!”

“Well, the variations among you certainly were surprising, but enjoyably so,” Adrahil smiled, deepening the creases around his eyes. Fili had been correct; he had a warm face when it was not held carefully blank. “And I can report to those back home that no, dwarves do not spring fully formed from the rock. I have seen women among you, and children.”

“That old rumour is still going around?” Fíli groaned.

“I told you, Fí. I was queried about it when I journeyed to Gondor with the merchant caravan, and those asking would not believe me when I replied that it was untrue. Then again, they also refused to believe Indra is female simply because she wears trousers instead of skirts.”

“You have been to Gondor?”

Kíli turned to Adrahil. “I have, though it has been many years. I was but a stripling then, only thirty-six years old.”

“But you only look to be in your twenties now! How old might you be, your Highness?”

“Please, call me Kíli, your Highness. I prefer less formality when possible. And I am eighty-two years of age at present.”

“Astounding,” Adrahil breathed. “You are two years older than the son of our Steward, but the years do not show for you in the same way. So must it have been for us in the lost years of Numenor.”

The knight extended his hand past Fíli in offer to his brother. “If I am to address you as Kíli, then you must call me Adrahil.”

Kíli clasped his hand firmly. “Well met, Adrahil.”

Once again Fíli found himself smiling at Kíli’s ability to find friends. “I am bound by custom myself,” he said, “but at feasts or small, private groups, please use my name rather than my title.”

“I am honoured, Fíli.” Adrahil looked around at the raucous gathering which had increased in volume and rowdiness as more ale was imbibed.

Many of the dwarves with dwarflings had shepherded them off to their quarters, for it was the time of the early morning when the words of the drinking songs became decidedly more lewd. Some parents had returned to join in, while others retired to bed expecting their children to be up early the next day. And they were not the only ones to choose a full night’s sleep. The crowd had begun to thin around eleven of the clock, and would continue to do so until only the most determined of revellers remained, likely comatose under tables.

“Feasts in Gondor…” the knight spoke again, “well, I wish they could be so merry. Usually they are sombre, with past glories compared to the present dimming of our might. Sometimes I think we have allowed the weight of our history to crush us. We cling to our past and allow little room for innovation and change. Perhaps an alliance would allow us to live under the burden of our history, as I see you have.”

“We would welcome such an alliance,” Fíli said, choosing not to respond to the knight’s more maudlin commentary. He had seen such a mood swing as the result of drink many times. “Perhaps you may linger a day or two after the festival for a more uninterrupted discussion of what that could entail.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Kíli, ever the kind to draw folk out of dark moods, spoke up. “I would enjoy the opportunity to speak to one of your Rangers. I hear they specialize in stealth and archery. Do you have any within your escort?”

As it turned out, Adrahil himself had spent time with the Rangers and was able to share much on the subject with an eager Kíli. Less interested than his brother, Fíli shared a moment of wordless communication with him and slipped away from the table. Bifur stepped in to fill Kíli’s post, having been signalled by the brunet in a way that had been decided for just such occasions.

Along with Kíli, Bifur had taken a position as Second to Dwalin for the Guard. While Kíli concentrated on internal threats in tandem with Nori, Bifur’s responsibility was securing Erebor from outside threats. It was a post he was well suited for. In his time, he had been a miner, a hunter, and a warrior, and Fíli was pleased to discover the elder dwarrow’s canny eye and head for tactics had made the mountain even more defensible without making it inaccessible or compromising trade. And in his spare time, Bifur still made brilliantly intricate clockwork toys. All the dwarflings and not a few children of Dale knew to ignore his horrific scar and gruff demeanor, for he delighted in telling tales and sharing the fruits of his crafting skill. It was not uncommon to find him in a corner of the market with a flock of awed younglings surrounding him.

Leaving Kíli with his newest friend, Fíli sought out Dori, fortunately catching him before he departed for his chambers. “Dori, might I have a word?”

“Of course, your Majesty. And might I say that you look magnificent? The gold embroidery sets off your hair, I’m so glad I chose to use it after all,” Dori complimented him before he could get a word out.

Making his best attempt at keeping his internal wince from showing on his face, Fíli leaned in to speak quietly to the tailor. “I thank you for your attention to detail in the clothes you produce, they are quite beautiful. And I was staggered that you managed to finish my garb in time for tonight. But the use of gold and gems is actually what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Dori’s face twisted in puzzlement. “Am I not using enough? I know there are several dwarf lords more richly ornamented here tonight, but your rank shows through clearly in your bearing.”

“Quite the opposite, actually. You remember how Thorin became regarding the contents of the Treasury…” pausing to wait for Dori to nod, though the tailor still looked puzzled as to Fíli’s point, “well, the whole experience has soured me on precious metals and gems. I would prefer if they were not used in my clothing. Use the richest fabrics you can lay your hands on, as much embroidery as you would consider tasteful; but please, no more gems or gold.”

“I understand completely, milord. I am sorry for not noticing your discomfort sooner.”

Fíli clapped Dori on the shoulder, smiling now that he knew the sometimes fussy elder dwarrow had not taken offense. “It is understandable, Dori. As you pointed out, it is the custom for wealthy dwarves to show it in their clothing. I shall not keep you from your bed any longer, thank you.”

“You are most welcome. I wish you a pleasant night’s rest when you retire.” Always proper, Dori bowed before walking away.

Surveying the room after Dori’s departure, Fíli decided it was emptied enough for him to conclude his duties for the night. He wished for nothing more than to return to his chambers and curl into Kíli in their comfortable bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Sun-brother
> 
> [2] my wise wolf
> 
> [3] love
> 
> [4] Iron Hills
> 
> [5] my sun
> 
> [6] perfect brother
> 
> [7] The Lonely Mountain; Erebor


	2. The Week Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Durin's Day festival gets underway. Snippets of bright moments.

The day after the welcoming feast was always a late one. And for good reason. Through the sun was past its zenith by the time Fíli cracked open his bloodshot eyes, he still groaned in pain at the dim light filtering into their mountain chambers. He rolled over to bury his face into the crook of Kíli’s neck, but found only pillows. Groping out with the vague thought that Kíli had contorted himself into some corner of the large bed as he had as a dwarfling, a bleary Fíli slowly realized that his lover was not in bed.

Before he could panic, Kíli’s hushed tones soothed his budding concern. “Are you awake at last, nadad?”

“Mmrgh,” Fíli replied, flopping back down in the sheets. Had he the energy to speak, he would have told Kíli to get back into bed so they could snuggle and go back to sleep.

Kíli chuckled softly from somewhere nearby, and then the blond felt the bed by his hip dent under Kíli’s weight.

“Here, Fí,” gentle hands raised his head and held something sweet-smelling to his lips. “Drink this. Bilbo says it’s his mother’s secret remedy for overindulging.”

“Mmrr,” Fíli grumbled, but drank the concoction down in a few swallows. It was sweet-smelling with a strange woodsy aftertaste, and fortunately didn’t irritate his already delicate stomach. When it was all gone, he curled as much of his body as he could into and around Kíli’s lap. “I hope it works, I have an alatuskhilorbanât,”[1] he muttered, closing his eyes once more against the light.

And very nearly purred when long, agile fingers carded through his tangled mass of waves, pausing occasionally to scratch. “Mmm, Kí, that feels so good. Please keep doing that forever.”

The sound of Kíli’s deep, throaty chuckle made him smile. “I think my fingers would cramp up if I kept going forever.” Belying his mild protest, Fíli was uncertain how long Kíli kept petting him as Bilbo’s remedy worked its way through his taxed system.

At last feeling more like a dwarrow than a troll, turned to stone with morning’s light, Fíli sat bolt upright and only narrowly avoided cracking his head off Kíli’s chin. “The festival!”

“It’s alright, Fí. Most folk woke in a similar state as you, that’s why there’s the tradition for today’s events to begin at three of the clock.”

Though his mouth opened to protest, Kíli anticipated his concern.

“I have been keeping an eye on the time. I was about to rouse you, but you still have a little over an hour to prepare and get down there.”

The tension left Fíli all in a rush with Kíli’s assurances. “Thank you, kandûnê.[2] Though it is beyond strange to find you awake first. Next feast night, I should remember not to indulge so deeply.”

“You say that every time, Fí. And yet every time…”

The blond swatted his impudent brother. “You’re my guard, are you not? You should be protecting me from the indignities of waking the next morning feeling as though I attempted to wrestle Beorn in his bear form.” Laughing at Kíli’s exaggerated gestures of surrender, Fíli rolled out of bed and onto his feet, hissing at the cold stone floors after he missed the rugs.

____________________

It was a ragged crowd who gathered on the plateau before the Front Gate of Erebor for the opening event of the week’s festivities. Many were dishevelled or still swiping sleep from their eyes, not having the benefit of Belladona’s secret recipe. The only exceptions were those families with children who had the wisdom to retire earlier. Dwarflings and children of men mixed together in small clumps, their shared excitement for the festival overcoming hesitation at their differences. Most adults of the three peoples surrounding them wore similar expressions of affectionate indulgence, all younglings celebrated as a new beginning.

Fíli shared in their enthusiasm. The opening performance by all musicians who wished to participate had long been one of his favourite parts of the Durin’s Day celebrations. The wild rhythm of the double-ended stick over the stretched skin of the maznelfam [3] and the sonorous wail of the alfâtkhalbefam [4] reverberated in his blood and bones, and the instruments the Lakemen and the elves contributed added a new dimension to the music.

Though in the Ered Luin he and Kíli had been in the thick of things since they had learned to play, dancing as they played their fiddles, after his coronation Fíli felt obligated to remain in the audience. However, Kíli remained one of the core musicians, attending all the practices beforehand and acting as a teacher. The King could follow his brother’s progress through the press by the smiles and newly enthusiastic players he left in his wake. Wherever he saw someone struggling, Kíli would make his way over and guide them until they were as confident as those who had been playing for years.

And he was far from the only member of the Company to be part of the festivities. Bombur was one of the leading players of the alfâtkhalbefam; and Dwalin had his viol nearby, his craggy face for once serene as he played. Bofur was armed with the same flute which had survived the journey, following in Kíli’s example and bringing the musicians to new heights of enthusiasm. Óin had his maznlefam as well, the healer having once confessed he enjoyed that the sound was as much felt as heard. Glóin and Gimli stood near, a small family rhythm section.

In fact, the only members of the Company or their families who remained in the audience were Balin and Bifur. As his regular guardians were in the throng of music makers, Bifur had remained by Fíli’s side. Even among those watching, few folk were still. Most had spread out to encircle the musicians in a ring of dancers as they moved through reel to jig to hornpipe and more. It made for a colourful swirl against the cool overcast late October day.

Adding to it all were the bright pavilions erected by merchants on the plateau. Much larger than the temporary village which sprung up every year near [5] for the festival, the merchants had been the first to take notice of Erebor’s reclamation. While Fíli was still sending tentative overtures to kingdoms such as Dorwinion and Rohan, merchants from places as distant as Khand had been bringing their exotic wares since the second year of the festival at the Lonely Mountain. Though now the ruler of a wealthy Kingdom, Fíli still felt at times like a nobody from Thorinutumhu [5] when he saw pelts of animals he had never heard of, or spices he had never smelled. When he had visited one stall from Umbar, the petite merchant woman, her beautiful amber skin wound around with brilliantly patterned silks, had pressed an animal carved of an aromatic wood into his hands.

“It is a lion, my lord,” she had explained at his quizzical look. “A great cat from the plains of my land. You are very like one yourself, so please, keep this as a token.”

“I cannot accept this without payment,” he protested, “not after you have journeyed so far.” Fíli had attempted to hand her some coins, though with little idea how much a figure so finely carved of such sweet-smelling wood should cost.

She had laughed in low tones, as musical as her voice and accent. “So very like a lion, indeed. Proud and honourable, with a magnificent mane,” she reached out to tug one of his braids with a wink. “But fierce, very fierce, when those under your protection are threatened.

“I will not take payment, it is a gift, a token of my gratitude. Few in the West even now will allow my people to travel and trade freely. The men of Gondor have long memories, and consider all of those from Umbar to be corsairs. It is a privilege I had not expected to speak to you openly like this. The Kings of Umbar go nowhere without many bodyguards, and I would have lost my hand at the least for daring to touch your person.”

She had smiled at Kíli, as always standing at Fíli’s shoulder. “I can see your guardian is a gentler sort, though I would not wish to be one who seeks to do you harm with him at your back. Lovers are always most fierce in avenging their own.”

Kíli had grinned back at her, so disarming was her manner. “You must be a mystic among your people, to see so clearly from a momentary acquaintance. They must miss you when you travel.”

“I thank you, young lord,” she had swept a graceful courtesy. “You are most kind to say so, usually my knowledge is more unsettling to people.” The merchant had turned back to Fíli, tracing a graceful hand down his braids once more. “You remind me of the Chieftains of the villages of my people, lion. They are chosen from among us, folk who have shown their quality and selflessness. You will do well by your people, and all who seek you out in peace.”

Fíli had been left shaken but ultimately buoyed by his visit to her pavilion. Her mysticism called to mind Galadriel, both seeing not only the present but laying bare secrets of those they spoke to. In spite of, or perhaps because of this quality, Fíli had formed an unlikely friendship with the woman he had learned was named Sati. He was looking forward to seeing her once more.

In addition to goods for sale, many pavilions also held demonstrations or workshops throughout the week. It was in keeping with the tradition of the week, folk competing or showing off their skills in honour of the Seven created by Mahal to share his love of creation. As such, it was not unknown for dwarves approaching maturity to choose their craft at a Durin’s Day festival, nor to find an apprenticeship with a merchant or one of the crafters they employed. With merchants from such far-flung corners of Arda, this had created some new challenges.

Dwarves valued the few children they had greatly. More than one distraught parent had approached Fíli because their child wished to apprentice to a man, elf, or simply a dwarf who lived far distant. The King always ensured the prospective Master was thoroughly investigated; but so long as they were reputable and safe, he would not stop the dwarf from leaving. He was a firm believer that Mahal had carved a path for every dwarf, and that they would know when they found it. Some parents still objected, but usually Fíli serving as mediator could negotiate an agreement between parent, child, and prospective Master. With the creation of a Spring Festival in Dale, those negotiations had become simpler. It was likely the apprentice would be returning twice a year at least.

One of Fíli’s favoured songs to play began and he wished for the familiar weight of his fiddle tucked under his chin and the bow in his hands. He and Kíli had perfected a duelling version of the song, and it never failed to draw enthusiastic applause when they played. Almost as if she had known of his melancholy, a slender hand slipped into his own. Spinning in surprise, Fíli was greeted with Sigrid’s laughing blue eyes.

“Dance with me, your Majesty,” she commanded gleefully, longer acquaintance having shown Fíli her playful side.

Fíli laughed along with her. “Far be it from me to refuse the command of a beautiful young lady.” He bowed over her hand before bodily sweeping Sigrid off her feet and into the whirling dancers. As they spun, he caught a glimpse of Bard smiling at his daughter’s joy.

They must have made quite the sight, Sigrid standing head and shoulders taller than the dwarrow King. But they were far from the only such mismatched companions. Fíli never would have imagined that his attempts to foster a sense of community and cooperation between the three disparate peoples in the area that only five years on, this would be the result. Elves danced with dwarves, hobbits with children of Men, all laughing and joyful as they swapped partners down the lines. Longstanding suspicions and grudges dissipated under the celebratory atmosphere; at least for the week. Even those most hard-bitten and determined to cling to the old segregations could not entirely resist the merriment. Thranduil himself had been drawn into the round of dancers by Tilda. It seemed indulgence of the young was a trait shared by all peoples.

Through Fíli tried to gracefully bow out after his first dance with Sigrid, the young woman was not having any of it. She kept a firm grip on the King until she could swap partners with a curly-haired hobbit lass. After that, he simply surrendered to the momentum of the dance, swapping partners as the music dictated. The only thing which would have improved upon the joyous experience was having Kíli as one of his partners.

So it was that Fíli was taken entirely by surprise when, at some signal from the band leader, the musicians cried out in ragged chorus, “Last dance!”

Whoops and groans greeted this announcement, but both dancers and musicians took the last song as a challenge. It was the quickest tune of the day, dancers whirling faster and faster to keep pace with the rapid pace of the music until the very last note sounded. As if their strings had been cut, many of the revellers collapsed to the ground with breathless laughter. Were royal dignity not drilled into him, Fíli would have liked to do the same.

When they had regained their wind, many of the musicians would be holding a workshop for the children; allowing them to take their first stumbling attempts at an instrument, or giving tips for improvement to those who already played. Others from both audience and band would be part of the preparations for the meal and entertainment that evening.

____________________

Dís was the last dancer to take the stage that evening. Before she took the opening pose, she kilted up her rich blue skirts and peeled off boots and stockings to bare muscular legs. The opening note droned on as she stood ready, leaping into motion with the merry tune. Her speed belied the strength of her legs as she nimbly danced between and around the pair of razor sharp swords at her feet. Though her toes moved within barely a hairsbreadth from the gleaming steel, she flicked her feet with such precision and confidence that it may as well have been a great gulf between.

Fíli grinned as his Amad raised her hands to clap her own rhythm along with the music of Bombur’s alfâtkhalbefam, encouraging the crowd to join in. When they had caught on, with the same sense of showmanship Fíli was certain that Kíli had inherited, Dís drew a pair of daggers from concealment in her thickly embroidered sleeves. Even as the music skirled faster, she added the new blades to her dance, a shining blur of steel in counterpoint to the rapid flicks of her feet. When at last the music crescendoed to a triumphant climax, the onlookers came to their feet cheering as Dís gave a finishing bow, her sons applauding as loud as any.

No matter how many times he saw her dance, Fíli remained amazed by her talent. It was small wonder that Hjalli’s heart had been caught after seeing her perform one night in a roadside camp, making him determined to win hers in return. Dís was a magnificent sight; though it was a long and taxing routine, not a hair was out of place and she appeared scarcely winded. Though many had been inspired by her example, not one had yet achieved her mastery over the complex patterns she created with hands and feet alike. For that very reason, hers was always the final performance of the night. No other dancer wished to follow her and look poorer for the comparison.

With the dances concluded, many of those dwarves present began to drift towards their homes, for the next day would begin early. It would be a race to the edge of the snow which capped the peak of the Lonely Mountain, intended to honour the creations of their Maker. Any dwarf could test the strength and endurance of their bodies against the rugged stone of the landscape carved by the hands of Mahal. Kíli had won the year before, at last silencing some of his most persistent critics. The event was blessed, and the winner doubly so, favoured by their Maker. As such, it was the sole part of the festival which other peoples were barred from entering. A mirrored event for dwarflings was also held, though they would only race to the restored guardpost on Ravenhill.

____________________

Exhausted but kept on his feet by the exhilaration pulsing through his veins after the day’s race, Fíli only just restrained himself from flat out collapsing into his chair at the head of the Feast Hall. He had _won_ , an achievement only slightly dimmed by the knowledge that Kíli had allowed him to take the lead over the last hundred paces. They had still been a good distance ahead of the dwarrowdam who had taken third, and for a dwarrow of Fíli’s stature, he felt that keeping back with Kíli was no mean accomplishment. It had certainly had an effect on his subjects. To have the King and his heir win in consecutive year could be seen as a good omen. And while Fíli usually did not ascribe to the belief that Mahal took an active role in shaping their lives…that day he had felt almost outside of himself while scaling the craggy mountainside.

Despite his exhaustion however, Fíli was determined to remain for the tale-telling that night. It was eagerly anticipated by many, for the official chronicler of their Quest and now Chief Archivist would be telling their tale for the first time.

Ori had put it off for five years, claiming he needed the time to render the story into a form worthy of their deeds. Fíli himself, with Kíli’s full agreement, had privately raised the idea that the events were still too raw and painful to recount. For them all.

But that night, as Ori stepped to the fore holding his red leather-bound chronicle in his prosthetic hand, all Fíli felt was a tingling rush of anticipation. Ori had grown into himself these past five years. Fíli suspected it was a combination of the journey itself, holding a position of responsibility, and Dori no longer feeling the constant need to fuss over his youngest sibling. Through he still wore his hair and beard braided with ribbons, his ginger hair had grown out of the choppy bowl cut he had worn and was plaited back, and his beard was fuller. His Mastery braids held pride of place in the simple arrangement. His lavender clothing had deepened to a rich violet with charcoal accents. And the steel prosthetic Dáin’s partner Gwenfrewi had made for him was worn proudly, a battle scar displaying that any judgement of him as merely a feeble scholar was far off the mark.

Ori’s reedy voice became richer and deeper in the cadences of the story teller. From the first words he held his audience captivated; the great Hall silent aside from the occasional clink of cutlery.

Looking round, Fíli reflected that it may have been wiser to have Ori wait until after dinner to begin. No few folk had forgotten the meal before them entirely. And small wonder. Though he had walked every step alongside Ori, his storytelling skills made it all seem new.

“Listen, my people, guests from all nations, to this tale of courage, endurance, quick-thinking, and ultimately sacrifice and loss. But though we know this will not have the desired end for all those involved, it resulted in reclamation of a homeland and the growing prosperity that we now enjoy. I hope that those who were lost can see us now, and are pleased that we have not allowed their sacrifices to pass in vain.

“But I am speaking of things best left for the end. The true beginning of our tale begins with a chance meeting; for Thorin Oakenshield was passing through Bree when a Grey Wizard joined him at his table. In truth, it all starts with a map and a key…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] hangover of epic proportions
> 
> [2] my wolf
> 
> [3] drum
> 
> [4] bagpipes
> 
> [5] Thorin's Halls


	3. Prison Cells and Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili has some final business to take care of after the Durin's Day festival is over. There was a brawl during one of the feast nights, and Prince Adrahil still to speak to.

By the time the week wound to a close, Fíli was more than ready for life to resume its usual pace.

“It may be pleasure,” he grumbled to Kíli as they stripped for bed, “but sustained revelry is _exhausting_. Not to mention you have allowed me to imbibe far too much ale this week.”

Kíli only laughed at his complaints. “Well, that explains why you’re being so eloquent at bed time, sannadad.”[1]

“I think I should like to return to our chambers early tomorrow evening, so you can fuck me.” Fíli ruined some of the impact of his declaration when his inebriation overcame his balance and sent him toppling onto the bed.

“And so forward…”

As Kíli stripped off the last of his feast clothing, he pounced on Fíli and snared him in a deep kiss. “Anything you want, razdûnê,”[2] he promised. “You need only ask, and I will give you anything that is within my power to do so.”

“Love you, Kí.” Fíli wished to say more, but his exhaustion overcame him. The last thing he was aware of was Kíli curling around him and drawing the covers over them both.

* * *

His first duty when he at last woke was an unpleasant one. As he had predicted, on one of the festival nights, a brawl had broken out between a few dwarves and men from Dale. A fistfight fuelled by overindulgence and lingering animosity. Rather than spoil the festival, Fíli had the guards escort them down to the gaol and allowed them to cool their heels until the Durin’s Day celebrations were over. His hope was that time to sober up and consider matters would find them repentant.

But as he stood before the cell holding the two dwarrows Nori had identified as the instigators of the physical part of the altercation, he could see that was not the case. Both met his calm gaze with sullen glares. Fíli stared them down until first one, then the other, broke and dropped their eyes to the floor.

Only then did he speak. “Will you enlighten me as to why you chose to begin a fight with those who are our guests? In doing so, you have dishonoured the hosting customs of our people, and marred a celebration for not only Durin, but the reclamation of our homeland.”

The bolder of the two met Fíli’s snapping blue eyes once more. “Listen, whelp. It ain’t my homeland, and they ain’t my guests.”

“You dare show such disrespect for your King?” Dwalin’s heavy fist hammered into the iron bars, the only barrier from his preferred target of the dwarrow’s face. Fíli might have liked to take a swing at them himself. After giving up so much to be their King, it pained him that any of his people could look at him with such scorn.

The dwarrow in question sneered, then spat on the floor. “I’m from the Zirinhanâd,[3] he ain’t my _King_ neither.”

“Lord Dáin swore his allegiance to His Majesty,” Kíli’s low voice at last made the dwarrow flinch at the fury audible past his calm. “Unless you have abandoned your loyalty to him as well, you owe King Fíli your fealty.”

“I’m loyal to milord. I just don’t know why he let a pup with strange ideas like allying with menfolk take the throne. Born of a common merchant of the Blue Mountains no less,” he snorted, either very foolish or totally unable to read the signs of Dwalin’s white knuckles and Kíli’s flared nostrils, “I don’t know how Dís could have lowered herself so.”

“You dare to lay dishonour upon the Lady Dís?” Dwalin roared, but he was brought up short by Fíli’s hand on his arm. His mother would not thank him for losing his temper over a slur to her. A King could not afford to lose his composure like that, as much as he wished to be free to settle slights to his honour with a duel.

“I have heard enough from you, Gegnir.” The dwarrow tried to mask his shock that Fíli knew his name. As if he would not take the time to learn the names of all those involved. “I had hoped the fight was a simple matter of overindulgence, and I would simply pardon you so the matter could be forgotten. As that is clearly not the case, I will be discussing the matter of your sentencing with my Council.”

“Like you have the authority,” Gegnir scoffed. “I’ll be leaving with milord.”

“Lord Dáin has granted me complete discretion in the sentencing of all those from the Urâd Zirnul [4] who cross the law while in Azsâlul’abad,[5] actually. He was quite embarrassed by your behaviour.”

At last Gegnir fell silent as the reality of his situation truly registered, and Fíli turned to the other in the cell.

“And you, Vakr? You are a resident of Erebor, you should have known your actions would have consequences.”

“I couldn’t simply stand idle while men were saying such filthy things about dwarves. And if you were a _proper_ dwarrow ruler, they would never be considered ‘guests’ in the first place.”

“I see. The Council will decide an appropriate penalty for you as well.”

After the royal party rounded the corner in the hallway to the cell, Vakr spoke to Gegnir. He must have underestimated the acoustics of the corridor, for Fíli could clearly hear his whisper. “I can’t wait until he’s gotten rid of.”

Kíli cast an alarmed look at Fíli, but five years under Nori’s tutelage had tempered some of his impulsiveness. The blond knew that his brother would investigate this potential threat diligently. As it was, at least Dwalin’s hearing had evidently deteriorated enough that he had not heard the words clearly. The plot would be much easier to foil if the conspirators did not know they were aware of it.

Returning to the main guardroom, Fíli sank into a chair with a heavy sigh. He met the inquisitive looks of Bard and his pair of guards evenly. “They were not simply drunk and disorderly; there was true malice behind their actions. I had hoped we were past that.”

Bard huffed. “In my experience, Fíli, people like to cling to their old grudges and nurse them long past relevancy. Laketown was all petty squabbles and backstabbing.

“You’ve already changed more opinions that I thought possible; don’t blame yourself if there are a few stubborn hold-outs.”

His brother’s hand on his shoulder steadied him along with Bard’s reassurance. “Thank you.” Fíli raked a hand through the hair not caught in plaits before asking, “would you like to see the ringleaders among your folk now? Or should I speak to the rest of mine first?”

“Might as well get all your dwarves out of the way at once.” The man chuckled, “besides, I’m comfortable here and we’ve even got a fire going. It’s much more pleasant than speaking to those miscreants.”

Fíli groaned as he levered himself to his feet. “That much is certain.”

In the end, none of the interviews with the other dwarves were as charged as the first. Out of the ten involved, three did not care about the implications and would prefer men had never been invited into the mountain. Another three were ashamed of disrupting the feast, but still felt they were in the right defending themselves from the slurs thrown by the men, (though none could now remember what had been so infuriating.) The final pair Fíli released immediately, for it was clear they had simply been drawn into the fight. It was a relief that out of the entire population of Erebor, only eight had truly chosen to be belligerent.

Speaking to the men was a more delicate situation. Bard had granted him full authority to impose punishment, but he had still invited the new Lord to accompany him. It was a fragile balance to be struck. Fili could not afford to be seen as too lenient or too harsh on the men in particular, not when the relationships in the area were still finding their equilibrium. Not when it could affect the chances of forming alliances with kingdoms like Gondor.

This time, Fíli allowed Bard to take the lead when questioning the leaders. Hopefully he would have a better sense for his own folks.

Bard’s stern expression softened a little as he regarded one of the three identified as an instigator. “Tomas, I was surprised to see you at the centre of that disturbance. I thought you enjoyed the benefits of our alliance with Erebor.”

“I do, milord! I’m sorry, your Majesty,” Fíli was startled when the old man bowed to him as well. “It’s just some of them dwarves like looking down their noses at us, nevermind that they have to look up to do it, ‘specially them from the Iron Hills. So when some of them started talkin’ in that secret language of yours and casting us nasty looks…well, I’m afraid I took it personal. And you know I have trouble keeping my temper when I been drinking.”

“Ahh,” Bard exchanged an amused glance with Fíli, neatly concealing his little grin from Tomas. “Perhaps in future you should remember not to indulge so heavily.”

His face turned stern once more as he directed his attention at the remaining two. Fíli recognized one as having backed Alfrid on the day the dragon descended on Laketown. Somehow, he doubted their explanations would be so innocent. He was proven right in the next moment.

“We don’t have anything to say to either of you,” the former guardsman sneered. “Not to a jumped up pretender like Bard; or a greedy mountain-maggot like you, dwarf. Where do either of you get off, calling yourself lords and thinking to pass judgement on us?”

This time Dwalin managed to control his temper as Fíli had asked of him, though his expression indicated he was thinking how many pieces he could render them into with Grasper and Keeper. Kíli’s reaction was actually more alarming, his brother intent on memorizing their faces and list of offences for later retribution. His lessons with Nori combined with the fierce protective streak Kíli had always shown for those he cared about, and Fíli in particular, made him a very dangerous dwarrow to cross.

Fíli very deliberately ignored the men in the cell when he spoke. “I think we’ve heard enough, Lord Bard. Shall we move on?”

“After you.”

Not until they were out of earshot did Fíli turn to Dwalin. “Detail a few of your guards to release Tomas, and move the other two to separate cells. In fact, do the same for the dwarves as well. The last thing we need is them conspiring to spew more bile and disrupt our alliance.”

“Of course, your Majesty. I should have thought of that myself.”

Fíli waved him off. “Until we spoke with them, we had no cause to think their bitterness ran so deep. Relations between our peoples have been remarkably civil up to this point.”

The remainder of the men were startlingly apologetic. The alcohol had loosened their inhibitions and tongues both, old prejudices and resentments coming out in familiar insults. But where men drinking in pubs would happily exchange jibes and perhaps the occasional punch, dwarves had a tendency to take insults more personally. And more physically. Only old friends could get away with the casual barrage of invective which was a matter of course for drunken men.

It was not until they had settled back in the guardroom that Fíli let out his relieved sigh. “Well, that went both better and worse than I had expected.”

“I’m not so certain,” Bard’s visage twisted in thought.

Kíli was the one to ask. “What do you mean?”

“It may have just been me, but… Did any of their responses seem practiced to you? Some of them sounded like they were simply spouting off lines they knew we wished to hear.”

Fíli shook his head, but Kíli was slowly nodding along.

“It did seem rehearsed. But honestly, I had put it down to nerves and their having a few days to consider their actions. You know your folk the better though.”

“I know I am not skilled at detecting that particular sort of duplicity,” Fíli admitted. “Our folk do not tend to attempt to disguise how they feel. But I know Kíli is more practiced, and I trust his judgement. We will keep a careful watch on those you suspect.”

“Agreed,” said the Lord of Dale.

“What concerns me most,” Kíli said, face serious, “are the implications of a larger conspiracy. We are going to have to keep a wary eye on all of them.”

Dwalin thumped his fist down on the table. “We know who the villains are. Tell me why we do not simply hold them in gaol?”

“No,” Fíli was firm on this point. “I will not start imprisoning our people simply based on suspicions, or because they do not agree with my decisions as King. To do so would send me down the path to becoming a tyrant.”

“On top of which, we cannot be certain they are the only conspirators,” Kíli pointed out.

Bard nodded in agreement. “Additionally, there is no way to guarantee they cannot do further damage from prison. If they do have conspirators on the outside… there would be ways to send out messages.”

“So then for now, all we can do is wait,” Dwalin concluded with a frustrated growl.

* * *

“Prince Adrahil, welcome,” Fíli stood to clasp forearms with the tall man in a warrior’s greeting. “I hope you do not object to my holding this meeting over a late noonmeal. I had some unpleasant business to take care of this morning, and it ran over later than I had hoped.” In truth, it was more than halfway to dinner, and Fíli was ravenous.

“No, no, it is fine. I always welcome the chance for a good meal. Soldier’s appetite, I am sure you are accustomed to doing the same.” Adrahil took in the fact that he, Fíli, and Kíli were the only ones present. “Will more of your Council be joining us?”

“Not for the time being. I received the impression that you had not been sent here with the intention of negotiating an alliance. With that in mind, I had though a more informal discussion would serve. A proper decision on terms can wait until you bring the suggestion back to the Steward.”

Adrahil chuckled. “That is a sound idea. Our Steward is a good man, but he can be rather… prickly about his authority being circumvented.”

Fíli smiled. “I am pleased my assessment was correct.” He tilted his head as he looked at Adrahil in consideration. “Before we being narrowing down what may be mutually beneficial, I would like to hear your honest appraisal. What do you think of Erebor, now that you have spent time here?”

Adrahil hesitated, looking searchingly at the pair of brothers. Fíli knew it was a weighty request for a man they truly did not know very well.

“No need to worry about either of us taking offense. I wish to be a good leader for my people, and sometimes the viewpoint of an outsider may provide valuable insight. It is easy to miss nuances through familiarity.”

Reassured, the man began. “Well, what I had said to you that first night still holds true, through my admittedly still limited lens of experience. My men have commented on it as well, that it has been more than enjoyable to be caught up in the merriment. They had been expecting a rather grim diplomatic assignment, filled with mournful memorials. For that is the case in Gondor on those occasions dedicated to a person’s memory. It has been pleasant to be invited to a celebration of Durin’s life instead. I have been impressed by your people’s strength of character as well as their strength of arms over this week.

“However…there is an undercurrent of mutiny as well. Only among a very few, and while every kingdom can expect to have detractors, this seems to have found some focus. They are growing more bold, unless I miss my guess. Nothing like that brawl has ever happened before, has it?”

“No,” Kíli confirmed. “Thank you for your forthright observations, Prince Adrahil. The same has recently been brought to our attention.”

“Does this in any way affect your opinion about an alliance with Erebor?” Fíli asked. He sincerely hoped not, Gondor would be a needed ally in what Galadriel had warned was coming.

Adrahil seemed taken aback by the very question. “Of course not. Erebor is a prospering kingdom, far more so that I would have expected after the long years of the dragon’s occupation. You have worthy aid in your rule, so I expect your malefactors will be readily despatched. I would imagine that King Thorin would be very proud of what you have built here.”

In spite of his self-control, Fíli flushed brilliantly and had to fight down the tears welling in his eyes. “I thank you,” he managed to say with a steady voice, clasping Kíli’s offered hand _hard_ under the table.

The man appeared not to notice his struggle, for he was engaged in one of his own. “You have asked for my honesty, and I believe you are deserving of my trust. The truth is; Gondor is badly in need of your skills. Our defenses are centuries old, and have not been maintained as they should. Inattention lost us our outposts at the Black Gate of Mordor, and Minas Ithil has long since been corrupted into Minas Morgul. With our coastal defenses crumbling, Osgiliath is threatened by corsairs out of Umbar.

“Your folk are skilled in stonework like no others. I have seen the evidence of such all around me. Would you be willing to allow some of your masons to travel to Gondor if we were allied?”

“Of course.”

Kíli grinned. “They would welcome the challenge, to be honest. With Erebor close to being restored, many of them have begun eyeing every piece of uncarved stone. We should thank you for taking them off our hands before they build another mountain to keep themselves busy.”

Adrahil threw his head back on a full-throated laugh. “That would certainly be unfortunate.”

“It’s likely some of our masons would take apprentices from your folk as well. Passing along skills, sharing knowledge, these are considered almost sacred duties so that craft may never be lost,” Fíli added.

“That would be welcome indeed. What would you have of us in return?”

“Official recognition of our status as a sovereign kingdom, to start,” Fíli said ruefully. “Gondor has an unfortunate history of disregarding dwarven kingdoms.”

“As is shown by the misinformation in our history texts,” Adrahil nodded along. “Of course, for no agreement with you would be considered binding in Gondor if you do not have sovereignty.”

“Precisely. Aside from that, we would ask for full trading privileges within your borders. There are many goods traded in Gondor that cannot be found here in the North. If merchants may come and go freely between our kingdoms, I believe it would be of benefit to us both.”

Their discussion ranged far and wide after the initial probing questions, but in the end Adrahil would be returning to the Steward with a number of suggestions for alliance. Fíli hoped it would be him sent back among the official negotiators: he liked the gruff, honest man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] perfect brother
> 
> [2] my sun
> 
> [3] Iron Hills
> 
> [4] Iron Hills
> 
> [5] Erebor; Lonely Mountain


	4. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could give you some kind of teaser, make it sound profound or something. But this chapter? This is why this fic is rated E. Have some smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait this time guys. I've moved recently, and that kind of messed with my flow. Hope you find this smut makes up for it ^^

Fíli was not quite certain why Kíli was so insistent on them making an early evening of returning to their chambers.  He dimly remembered saying something about it while intoxicated, but precise recall was beyond him.  They separated at their doors as usual, but Kíli soon rejoined him in the bedroom they shared, already down to his underlayers.

“Do you remember what you asked of me last night, nadad?”

“Not particularly,” Fíli was forced to admit.

His taller brother slunk closer, bending to whisper in Fíli’s ear.  “You wanted to return to our chambers early tonight so I could fuck you.  Do you still want that, amrâl?[1]  Do you want me to pin you to our bed and fuck you until you’re writhing under me and begging for release?”

The blond shuddered at the hot breath over his sensitive ear and Kíli’s filthy words, a tiny involuntary moan escaping his parted lips.  He was already half-hard, it would take little to get him worked up and pleading as Kíli had suggested.  “Yesss…”

A callused hand gripped his chin gently and tilted his head up for a passionate kiss.  He could feel Kíli’s other hand working at the fastenings of his tunic, clasp after clasp falling away until the heavy garment slid from his shoulders.  The hand slid from his chin down his neck to the laces for his undertunic, both hands working quickly to strip him down.  As he worked, Kíli’s lips kissed down following the path of his hands.  In the years they had been together, Fíli had developed an affection for the rasp of Kíli’s whiskers against tender skin and the tingling burn left in its wake.

Kíli walked him backwards without him realizing until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, successfully distracted once again by Kíli’s mouth on his sensitive nipples.  He shrugged off his tunic under his brother’s encouragement, moaning in loss when Kíli pulled back to eye him up and down.  He was more than a little startled when Kíli gently pushed him to land on his back with a soft ‘umph’.

“If you could see your face, nadad,” Kíli laughed softly.

He cut short any clever rejoinder Fíli might have wished to make when he dropped to his knees and unfastened Fíli’s flies with his _teeth_.  How his hands were occupied was made clear when the blond’s first boot was flung carelessly across the room to hit the wall with a ‘thump’.

“You’re just lucky that did not land in the fire, Kí.  These are my favourite boots.”

“If you’re thinking that clearly, I’m not distracting you enough,” Kíli retorted.

Fíli dropped his head back and whined when a hot, wet mouth closed over his trapped cock.  It was sheer torment, only able to feel the heat through layers of cloth.  The ache grew as his shaft swelled within his smalls.  This time, when his other boot went the same way as its mate, his only thought of complaint was that Kíli was not moving _faster_.

As though reading his mind, the brunet eased his trousers and smalls over Fíli’s thick length and tore them off.  Fili had a moment to appreciate the unobstructed sensation of his mouth on his cock before Kíli stood and left him bucking into empty air.

“Patience, razdûnê,”[2] Kíli advised as he began to shed what remained of his clothing.

Fíli found patience easier to manage as his brother bared more and more of his skin.  Spending so much time within the mountain had stripped some of the colour from Kíli’s olive skin, but his scars still stood out under his pelt in wild silvery lines that Fíli itched to trace with hands and mouth alike.  He particularly enjoyed the shivers he could pull out of the archer by nibbling along the scars crossing his spine, though he seldom got the opportunity unless Kíli had overstrained himself at the range.

Kíli saw him watching and grinned, drawing it out to make a bit of a show of things.  He turned before bending over and sliding off his smalls, running his hands up his muscular legs as he straightened.

“Like what you see, Fí?”

“By Mahal, yes,” Fíli breathed.  “But I’d like it even better if I could touch.”  He beckoned his eager brother over and into his arms.

Though both were already achingly hard, for a time they did nothing more than lie together and savour their closeness.  As much as he enjoyed quiet moments, this time Fíli was the first to become impatient.  He began to rock up, seeking friction in the crease of Kíli’s hip and shuddering as their cocks brushed together.

“I believe you said something about me getting fucked?” Fíli teased.

His brother laughed and poked him in the ribs until Fíli squirmed away.  “Shift up against the pillows, I’ll grab our blanket.”  He looked up when he was settled only to catch the bundle of fabric in the face.

Fíli busied himself with smoothing down the blanket to protect their bedding while Kíli grabbed the oil.  At first, precautions such as that had seemed a galling break in the heat of their coupling, but now the routine was familiar.  They had both learned it was simpler to take a moment at the beginning rather than the time later to clean up.  And spit was not truly a sufficient lubricant, no matter how well stretched Fíli thought he was…

He knew the brunet had joined him on the bed when it dipped under him and a kiss was placed on each dimple at the small of his back.  He smiled at Kíli’s often shown fondness for all of the small dips.  Though he moved to roll over, Kíli’s hands halted the motion.  There was the pop of a cork, and a fresh pine scent filled the air.  Fíli hissed when the cool oil was poured in a thin stream directly into his cleft, but then Kíli’s warm fingers were there, swiping through the viscous liquid and massaging it into the crinkled furl of his hole.

Kíli’s middle finger slid in easily, and Fíli breathed out a contented sigh as he was first breached.  He dropped his head onto his crossed arms as Kíli tugged gently on his rim, relaxed and more than willing to let his lover stretch him open at whatever pace he chose.  In his five years as King, his initial instinct to allow Kíli to dominate their bed play had only become stronger.  It was so nice to have his pleasure and needs come first for once, and though he sometimes felt selfish for it, he knew they always would for his lover.  Even when they changed things up from time to time, it went unspoken that it felt best for both when Fíli was on the receiving end.

Tonight, Kíli evidently did not have the patience to draw out preparing Fíli as he sometimes did.  On those occasions, Fíli loved and hated him in equal measures, for the archer’s clever fingers would bring him to the edge of climax over and over until Fíli was reduced to nothing but the desperate desire to come.  And though he knew that Kíli would allow him to reach his peak if he truly _needed_ to, he would tease Fíli all the while with whispers like “you can hold out a little longer, can you not?  You look so magnificent like this, Fí,” and “but won’t it feel better reaching completion with me buried inside you?”

“Are you ready, razdûnel?”[3]  Kíli’s voice interrupted the pleasurable haze he’d fallen into.

“Of course.  Your fingers always feel so good inside me.”

“Flip over for me, Fí?  I would like to see your face as we join.”

Fíli rolled easily, smiling up at his brother as he moved between the blond’s spread legs and slid smoothly in.

“Fuck, Fí, you always feel so _good_ …” Kíli groaned as his groin met Fíli’s bottom.  He began to move in short, firm strokes that nevertheless managed to brush past Fíli’s pleasure spot each time.

The blond twined his legs around his brother’s to give him the leverage to move with him.  “Nothing else makes me feel so complete, kandûnê.[4]  I thank Mahal for giving you the courage to kiss me that first day by the Gate, Kí.”  For there was a deep sense of contentment Mahal had carved into the hearts of his people for when they had chosen their path.  Whenever a dwarf was pursuing their craft or engaged with their partner, that feeling resonated through them like clear struck hammer blows ringing through a forge.  It had been how Fíli knew he was not meant to be craft-wed after all, for when Kíli had kissed him…  Even five years down the road, the rightness he felt when he was with Kíli was as fulfilling as ever.

Hazel eyes looked down on him, glistening with emotion, and he knew Kíli felt the same way.  As Kíli sunk deep inside, he leaned down to capture Fíli in a heady kiss.  Fíli found himself moaning into his brother’s mouth as the brunet rolled his hips, dragging his cock along Fíli’s channel and giving Fíli’s own shaft delicious friction where it was trapped between them.

“How do you do this to me every time?” Fíli asked when at last he tore his mouth away to catch a full breath.

“I don’t know, Fí,” Kíli tenderly rested his forehead against the blond’s, “but you do the same to me.  That kiss was the best decision I’ve ever made.  I love you so much.”

Because they could only remain serious for so long, particularly when they had time alone together, Fíli retorted, “oh yes, that was _such_ a planned move when you kissed me and then panicked.  So smooth, Kí.”

The brunet sputtered until Fíli buried his head into Kíli’s muscular shoulder and began to laugh helplessly.  That had Kíli’s breath leaving him on a very different sort of noise, as Fíli’s channel contracted around him with his laughter.  The gasping whimper Kíli made did nothing to halt Fíli’s mirth.

“Fuck, Fí, you have to stop laughing or this is going to end in a way I truly did not intend…”

Fíli tried, he truly did, but his lingering exhaustion got the better of him.  “I am – try – ing, Kí,” he gasped out between heaving breaths.  With each spasm shuddering through his sturdy frame, he could feel Kíli twitch within him, the sensation tantalizing and yet almost ticklish.  Which did not particularly help with his uncontrollable hilarity.

As last Kíli found a way to silence him.  One hand twined into Fíli’s thick sunshine mane and held him for a firm kiss, the other hitched Fíli’s leg higher over his hip before Kíli thrust _hard_.  With the rapid pace his brother set, all Fíli could do was clutch at his shoulders and try not to be driven up the bed.  His mind went fuzzy as Kíli kissed the air from his lungs, only heightening the sparks of pleasure racing up his spine.  Each move Kíli made sent him deeper into his own body and the sensations racing through it.  When at last Kíli allowed him to break from the kiss, they were both left panting for air, laughter long forgotten.

Though Kíli slowed his pace, it did nothing to change the intensity with which he rocked into Fíli’s willing body.  The blond had been pushed to the edge of climax already, aching and needy as the constant brushes against that small spot within did nothing to push him over.  He was trembling by the time he moved a hand down towards his shaft.  Just a few strokes and it would be enough…

Which was his excuse for the loud whimper which escaped his throat when Kíli captured his hand and pinned it over his head, doing the same with the other for good measure.  And yet Kíli’s pace only faltered for a brief moment, the steady push and pull driving Fíli mad.

“Kí-iii,” Fíli whined, “I’m so _close_.”

“I know you are, Fí,” Kíli grinned down at him.  The tremor Fíli could feel in his arms and the sweat beading on flushed olive skin were the only tell-tales that Kíli was not so unaffected himself.

“So why won’t you let me finish myself?”

“Do you remember what I promised to do to you tonight?”

Fíli struggled to think past the blinding haze of pleasure and need filling his mind.  A soft gasp as full lips parted and blown eyes widened betrayed his recollection.

“That’s right, Fí,” Kíli’s mouth quirked at the corner.  “I’ve got you writhing – so ask nicely.”

Almost as soon as he’d said it, Fíli found pleas and curses tumbling from his mouth.  “Fuck, Kí, please.  Please let me climax.  Want to reach my peak with you filling me, feels so good.  Fuck me ‘til I see stars…”

It seemed that was all Kíli had been waiting for.  Somehow he twisted so his shaft hit Fíli’s pleasure spot even more directly and his body gave better friction to Fíli’s cock.  A few well-placed thrusts and Fíli was spilling between them, mouth open in a voiceless shout as his vision clouded.  He only just registered the moan and shudder that meant Kíli had followed in swift succession.

Though Fíli strove to hold on to the blissful mindlessness, reminders of the day intruded into his thoughts.  Some part of him was already considering the potential conspiracy they had discovered when Kíli sighed and pushed off enough to better see his face.

“Nadadel,[5] do the troubles of the day plague you still?  I’d hoped to be able to silence your mind for the night.”

“Did Galadriel impart some ability to sense my thoughts when last we met?  How could you tell?”

Kíli’s smile was tinged with melancholy.  “Fí, no dwarrow tenses after a climax like that unless some misfortune tears at their mind.  It was not difficult to guess.”  He paused to consider something before pushing himself to hands and knees over his brother.  The blond was about to protest the loss of warmth when Kíli caught his eyes.  Something in their hazel depths stilled him.

“Trust me, Fí?”

“Always.”

“Then tell me if this gets too much.”  Without dropping eye contact, Kíli bowed his body until he could clean Fíli’s belly of his bitter spend with his tongue.

Fíli’s mouth dropped open in shock.  Both had long since agreed they disliked the taste of seed, but Fíli could read Kíli’s pleasure at giving _him_ pleasure in hazel eyes.

Belly clean, the brunet began to lap delicately at the head of his cock.  And – oh Mahal – now he knew why Kíli wanted him to say if it became too much.  But it felt far too good to ask him to stop.  Already his shaft was swelling once more.

Between gently tracing along Fíli’s member with his tongue, Kíli scattered kisses and nips along Fíli’s belly and upper thighs.  He paid particular attention to the sensitive areas over Fíli’s hip bones and his scars.  All Fíli could do was writhe under the attention, Kíli batting his hands away if he tried to touch. 

When Fíli’s length was again jutting out proudly, Kíli winked up at him before swallowing around it until his nose was buried in gingery blond curls.

Fíli wailed when he was suddenly enveloped to the root in the wet heat of his brother’s mouth.  Both of Kíli’s hands were forced to pin his hips down, lest the blond choke him as Fíli arched on the bed, fingers scrabbling at the sheets as his head thrashed back and forth in overwhelming pleasure.  His spine had become a lightning rod, arcing electric sensation short circuiting his nerves.  Only Kíli’s light tug on his stones kept him from spilling once more, grounding him and allowing everything to ebb back to manageable levels.

“Are you alright, razdûnê?” Kíli released his cock to ask in concern.

Though Fíli had to grope for the words, they were reassuring when he spoke.  “So much more than alright, amrâl.”

Taking that as the eager consent it was, Kíli’s mouth closed over him.  Prepared for it this time, Fíli closed his eyes and allowed the tide of sensation to flow over and sweep him up in the current.  One hand slipped down to tangle his fingers with Kíli’s, a steady anchor to grasp hold of.

Now Kíli used his other hand to reach up and trace Fíli’s sturdy form.  If he lingered over-long on the peculiar hatched scars which were the legacy of Bolg’s heavy blow, Fíli well knew the fears behind the action.  Beyond the scars, Kíli’s hand slowly moved down until he was gently cupping Fíli’s sac.  He rolled the stones carefully, Fíli moaning and tilting his hips up to invite more touch.  With a thoughtful hum around his mouthful that had Fíli bucking up, Kíli slicked two fingers with the seed spilling from his well-stretched hole and slid them straight inside.  Unerringly, the archer found his target and massaged the small area gently.

“Mahal’s Forge, Kí…” Fíli trailed off into a whine.

This time, when Fíli found release, it was as steady as an exhaled breath.  Though not as sudden, it was almost more powerful for the gradual build.  The aftershocks drew on a blissfully long time, and when at last his trembling eased Fíli found himself drifting into sleep.  Only Kíli’s insistence that he take a few mouthfuls of water kept him from allowing slumber to claim him immediately.

The last things he felt were tender hands wiping off the worst of the spend and sweat, and a soft kiss on his lips.

“You are my life, Fí.  The only choice my heart ever could have made.  Sleep well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] love
> 
> [2] my sun
> 
> [3] beloved sun
> 
> [4] my wolf
> 
> [5] beloved brother

**Author's Note:**

> Come check me out at [thecopperriver.tumblr.com](http://thecopperriver.tumblr.com) if you have any questions or you want to chat about The Hobbit.


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